


No Escape

by Silex



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Held Down, Infected Characters, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Silex
Summary: Captain Robert Cross finds himself captured by Elizabeth Greene, but instead of killing him she keeps him to play with and torment in the most horrific ways possible. As he endures her torment he discovers that she is to some degree sane and that she has plans for him, plans that make death a preferable outcome.





	No Escape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HostisHumaniGeneris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/gifts).



> Written for an exchange. Prototype is a small fandom with a lot of crossover fics so why not put something up that isn't a crossover and features two largely neglected characters? Or at least that's my justification for this. I hope you all enjoy because I certainly had fun writing it.

The darkness in the heart of the hive was complete. Whether his eyes were open or closed it made no difference, but not seeing was a mercy given what he could hear.

Movement all around him, dripping moisture, the wet ‘plop’ of something heavier landing on the floor, things wheezing and groaning, and the occasional rumble of the building shifting under the weight growing in and around it.

Captain Robert Cross had no clue how long he’d been in the hive. Long enough that the rotting meat stink of the place had numbed his nose to the point where he could no longer smell it. Nausea had faded to a constant dull headache, a pressure behind his eyes.

Keeping his eyes closed didn’t help with the pain, but it spared him other discomforts.

From time to time the liquid that would rain down from above would land on him and run down his face and he couldn’t even wipe it away.

His arms were held down by the same spongy matter that the floor was made of, something living and growing, leaving him helpless as whatever it was dried to a sticky film on his face.

Despite stinking like something left to rot in the sun the hive was very much alive.

He could feel it, the floor moving beneath him, the mat of living matter covering his arms was growing constantly, sending out little tendrils that tried to dig into his skin.

Occasionally Greene would come by and clear some of it away, but she was inattentive except when she wanted something and waiting for her to arrive wasn’t something to look forward to.

The fact that he had been here long enough to think of things that way was terrifying.

All of it was terrifying, how one little mistake, not even a mistake really, just random chance and bad luck, could snowball so far out of control.

He’d turned his back on Mercer for less than ten seconds after injecting him with the parasite, trusting what he’d been told, that it would render him harmless.

Harmless was correct, because Mercer hadn’t attacked him, but certainly not helpless. When he’d turned around the Runner had vanished without a trace. He’d figured that Mercer couldn’t have made it too far, downplayed what had happened when he radioed back to his superiors and tried to track the Runner down.

He had no clue what the injection was supposed to do, how fast it was supposed to act, but he trusted that Mercer wouldn’t be able to do anything.

So if any mistakes had been made, that was the largest, brushing off Mercer’s escape and trying to go after him. The thing that galled him was that neither of those mistakes led directly to what happened next.

Everything after the pair of Hunters arriving had been utterly out of his control.

The Hunters had dropped down from the rooftops about half a block in front of him, more than enough time to respond. The Hunters in this outbreak were larger and more varied than any he’d encountered in the past, but that was to be expected. They’d had more time to grow and more to fuel their growth. Other than that they weren’t anything exceptional.

When the first one pounced, a distance impossible for it to cover in a single movement, he’d managed to take aim with his grenade launcher and hit it the moment it landed, still over thirty feet away from him.

The second one leapt to the side, pushed off the front of a building and zigzagged down the street. They did learn, but its movements were predictable, and even if there wasn’t time for him to aim, dodging was easy enough.

Hunters he could deal with, Mercer he could have dealt with because Mercer and the Hunters wouldn’t have been working together. If anything, the infected would have prioritized each other, because he’d seen Mercer fighting other infected, one of the most anomalous aspects of this outbreak.

What he hadn’t been ready for, couldn’t have even anticipated, was _her_ showing up.

He dodged the Hunter only to be pulled off balance by something grabbing him from behind by the collar of his jacket.

Expecting a walker, he pushed away and turned on his stunbaton. The weapon took a few seconds to power up, but it was quite effective when dealing with walkers.

Except it wasn’t a walker.

When he turned around he found himself face to face with Elizabeth Greene, frail and tired looking in her glorified straightjacket, seemingly on the brink of collapse.

Bloodshot, watery eyes focused on him and she smiled, cracked lips pulling back to reveal pink tinged teeth and blackened gums.

He expected her to growl, snarl, throw herself at him, fingers curled like claws.

She continued to look at him, expression going from blank to appraising.

“You’re the one.”

He’d heard Runners speak before, but not coherently, never calmly, never with any inflection. For something that had supposedly been catatonic for decades Greene was remarkably coherent, making him wonder how much of the story he’d been given before being sent in. In Blackwatch information was typically given on a need to know basis, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he and his superiors had differing opinions on what he needed to know.

“You’ll do fine.”

She laughed, bitterly.

He’d been accused of reading too much into the actions of his quarry in the past, but it had served him well before, letting him see things that others had missed. Runners were little more than animals, driven by instinct and basic needs, but they were smart animals. He’d seen too many men die from assuming that Runners were just glorified walkers. They weren’t. Mercer proved that and apparently Greene had more going on than he’d been lead to believe.

The Hunter, which had padded to Greene’s side, growled.

“Calm,” she whispered, putting a hand on its head, “He won’t hurt you.”

She was speaking to the Hunter, but her eyes remained fixed on him. She wasn’t blinking and tears cut lines through the dirt and gore streaking her face.

Greene and the Hunter were too close for him to use his grenade launcher. His stunbaton was ready though, which left the question of which one to hit.

The Hunter was arguably more immediately dangerous, but he’d seen it happen where attacking a Runner would leave nearby infected in a state of confusion.

Greene or the Hunter…

For the first and last time in his career he allowed himself to fall victim to tunnel vision. Focused as he was on what was in front of him, he never noticed the distant rumbling of something approaching until he felt the tremors through the street beneath him. By that time it was too late. He tried to dodge backwards, out of the way of whatever was happening, but where could he go when the pavement all around him was already splitting and heaving?

The Hunter leapt away.

Greene fell to her hands and knees, still smiling.

The street beneath him collapsed with a roar, something massive and serpentine emerging from beneath the pavement. Cross found himself falling downwards into whatever lay below.

That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the hive.

The back of his head hurt like hell so he’d assumed that he’d hit it on something when he fell, but he had no recollection of anything between falling and waking up.

The air in the hive was suffocatingly warm, greasy with the smell of decay. His head spun and when he tried to sit up he found he couldn’t move. He felt a stab of fear that the fall that during the fall that knocked him out he’d broken his back and he was paralyzed, but nausea from the pain and smell quickly distracted him and he barely managed to turn to the side in time to avoid choking on his own vomit.

He continued to retch long after his stomach was empty and he was coughing up bile, which kept him from noticing that he wasn’t alone for far too long.

Something moved in the darkness next to him. Again he tried to get up and this time his head was clear enough to notice that he could move, it was just that something was holding him down. Something warm and moving.

“You’re awake.”

Greene’s voice was right next to him, close enough that he could feel her breath against the side of his face.

More movement and he felt her hand on his chest, fingers hot and sticky against bare skin, bringing with it the realization that he was naked.

“I was worried,” she continued to trace her fingers back and forth across his chest, “I wanted to keep you, not…”

She fell silent, her touch and the darkness the only things for him to focus on.

He was in a hive, he was sure of it, other than that he knew nothing, not that anything else mattered. If he was in a hive with Greene he was as good as dead.

“I need you…” a pause that he fought not to read too much into, “The way you are.”

“Why?”

The question escaped him before he could stop himself. Talking to her was pointless. A Runner, Greene was too far gone to answer.

As though to confirm his suspicions she began to cry.

That was something Runners did a lot, cry. There was no meaning to it. He’d come across one eating the remains of a trucker who’d made the mistake of giving her a ride and she’d been bawling her eyes out the whole while. It hadn’t stopped her from lunging at him, then trying to run off into the woods on the side of the road. He’d followed her by the sound of her sobbing.

There were theories about it, some sort of brain damage caused by the virus, but he didn’t really pay attention to any of them. It was something that he’d long ago made an effort to not think about. There were a lot of things in his line of work best not thought about.

“They took my baby,” Green whimpered, “I never even got to hold him. They killed him.”

Later, when he’d come to realize that Greene was, to some degree, lucid, if not sane, he’d used that to try and bargain with her. He’d heard stories about the Hope Child, and mentioned as much, that her son might still be alive. She’d listened and seemed to understand, but that hadn’t stopped her. All that would come later though.

For an unknowably long time she continued to cry and rant about her dead child and how much it hurt. Then the sobs abruptly turned to laughter, hysterical shrieks that subsided to deep, bitter chuckles.

“I just want a family,” she moved so that she was laying across him, “I’ve tired, but they all hurt. I have children, so many. So very many, but no baby. No family.”

Another shift in position and she was straddling him.

She shuddered against him, leaned in close. Her breath stank of old blood and worse, “You’ll help me.”

Then she kissed him.

At first he had no clue what she was doing and when he felt her lips against his face he assumed that she was going to bite him, rip out his throat and end it all. Looking back, there were times when he wished that he’d been right, that he’d felt her teeth sink into his neck rather than her lips against his, her tongue pressing against his closed mouth, trying to force its way it.

He’d fought of course, hadn’t yet realized the futility of it all, struggled to break free from whatever was holding him down and force her off of him. As it was she grabbed his face, tried to force his mouth open, all the while writhing on top of him.

It wasn’t until several encounters later that he realized what she’d wanted and why. The first time it continued until he was too exhausted from his struggles to move. As soon as he stopped she leapt off of him with a scream of frustration and stormed off.

The next encounter with Greene he hadn’t realized she was even there until she reached out and ran a hand through his hair. He expected her to say something, to do something, but she just kept repeating the motion over and over again. Eventually she started rocking back and forth, muttering to herself. Not long after that she stopped, stood up and vanished into the depths of the hive.

He had no idea how long it took her to return, but he would later conclude that it wasn’t more than a few hours later. She paced in slow circles around him and told, with remarkable clarity, the story of the last weeks of Hope. Aspects of it lined up well enough with what he knew that he was willing to believe that the other parts had at least some element of truth to them. It proved that there was something left to her, memories if not a personality, but he hadn’t yet been at the point where he would try conversation.

At some point he either passed out or fell asleep. Given how badly his head hurt and what he’d been through it was hard to tell the difference.

Waking up surprised him, though it took him a moment to remember why and even longer to realize that his situation had worsened.

He’d passed out and woken up.

Somehow nothing had killed him in his sleep and, even more impressive, given the bitter taste lingering on his lips, he wasn’t infected. At least he didn’t think he was, the pain and nausea could be from injuries rather than infection and as far as he could tell, his thoughts remained clear.

The oppressive warmth of the hive had grown worse, making it hard to breathe, like there was a weight on his chest.

Later, when Greene came and pulled something away from him with a wet tearing sound and the weight vanished he realized that whatever was holding him to the floor had grown over him.

Sobbing meaninglessly she lay down on top of him.

“Hold me,” she’d moaned, not that he could. She hadn’t freed his arms and made no attempt to.

She cried and begged until he was sure that he’d go insane from it, then left him alone to wait.

In time he came to measure time by the growth of the living matter restraining him, marked what he assumed were hours while deliberately not keeping track of days.

It had been days though, days trapped in a hive and somehow he was still alive.

Because Greene wanted him, needed him.

She told it to him over and over again between stories about Hope, all the horrible things that had happened and crying over her dead son.

“You’ll be a good father,” she said to him calmly after a particularly vehement rant about what she was going to do to the people who’d taken her child, never mind that the majority of them were probably already dead.

How adamant she sounded had made him laugh.

She laughed back, “Very strong, better than the others. You’ve survived.”

Then she mounted him and he stopped laughing as the meaning of what she said sank in. An assertion, rather than random inanity. In that moment her intent became clear to him.

Her efforts were to no avail. Pain, nausea and the fact that she was a fucking disease killed any response he might have had to the fact that what might have been, at one point, a fairly attractive woman was trying to have sex with him.

She was persistent.

When he failed to respond she stopped, inched backwards and took his cock in her mouth.

She was good, he was willing to give her that much, knew what to do with her lips and tongue, but there was no way in hell that she was going to get much of a response from him. Knowing what she was meant that she wasn’t going to get a response, no matter how skilled her ministrations were.

Eventually she gave up and left, but it wasn’t the last time she’d try.

Far from it.

Typically she’d try to mount him, rubbing against him until she grew frustrated with his lack of response.

Occasionally she’d try to give him a blowjob and on more than one occasion she succeeded in getting him half hard, but no further. She had the best luck when she caught him off guard, sneaking in on him when he was asleep and starting before he woke up and realized what was happening.

Once she even managed to get him inside her that way. The moment he woke up fully and realized what was happening her efforts came to naught, but it had been a good attempt on her part.

That was after he’d told her that her son might be alive, which had ended up having the opposite of the intended effect, causing her to redouble her efforts with him rather than to give up.

“He’ll need a father,” she’d said to him, “Someone to look up to, to teach him. You can do that. So many people want to hurt him, to hurt us and you are strong. You can keep us safe.”

Her continued failure to get what she wanted from him frustrated her, drove her to screaming rages.

There were times when she was away long enough that he was sure that she wasn’t coming back. He’d felt the tumorous flesh of the hive growing over him, encroaching on his face to eventually suffocate him, only for her to return and claw it away and try again.

Eventually she found a way to deal with her frustration, one where, though she wouldn’t get what she wanted, he was powerless to resist.

Sometimes that was what she came for and he honestly preferred those times. No sobbing, no desperate attempts to get him to fuck her, no telling him about the family she wanted to have with him.

He’d been her captive long enough that he’d gotten used to the normal sounds of the hive, enough that he was able to listen for her approach. He was keyed to it, which gave him time to assess the situation and brace himself for what she was going to do.

The sound of her footsteps cut through his thoughts.

From the pattern of her breathing, soft, but frantic, he could tell what she wanted.

There wouldn’t be any talking this time.

Despite the darkness he could feel her standing over him, tense like a wild animal about to pounce.

There wouldn’t be any foreplay either.

That was good. Her efforts had gotten closer to success the past few times, which said something either about her skill with her mouth or his sanity.

Hell, that he was ready for what was about to happen spoke poorly for his state of mind.

It was just that going along with it made it easier, meant it would be over with quicker.

In a swift and fluid motion she dropped down so that her cunt was pressed against his face.

The first time she’d done it he’d tried to resist and she’d nearly suffocated him, grinding against his face until he’d gotten the chance to gasp for air. He’d tasted her and it had been every bit as awful as he’d expected.

Now he was starting to get used to it. Her cunt smelled the same as the hive around him, only more so, and the taste was the same as the slime that dripped down from the ceiling. The most he could say about it was that it didn’t make him gag any more.

She pressed down a little harder against him and he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and let it slide between her folds.

She was wet, she always was.

He lifted his head as much as he was able, felt the slime and matter from the floor clinging to his hair, and tried for a better angle. If he could get it right, find that one place, it would be over that much faster.

He probed with his tongue, she gasped and flinched.

He’d found it, but the position she’d shifted to made it impossible for him to do it again.

All he could do was run his tongue back and forth and hope that she didn’t decide that she wanted to draw things out.

“There! There!” She panted, rocking back and forth, but not letting him actually get to the spot.

More than anything he wanted to get the whole thing over with so that she’d leave him alone to his thoughts.

It was insanity, all of it. When he was alone he wanted something to happen to distract him and when something happened it was always the same, her showing up. Then he wanted to be alone again.

Finally she settled back down, positioned herself so he could run his tongue along her clit. His movements were mechanical, doing what had to be done and nothing more. There wasn’t any point in pretending the situation was anything other than what it was. She was revolting, what he was doing was revolting.

Pleasuring her was an ordeal to be endured.

She moved again.

Apparently she did want to make things last.

There’d been a point where he’d tried talking to her, tried reasoning with her because there were times where it seemed like it might have been possible. It never worked, even though she understood, the fact of the matter was that she already had what she wanted. From her perspective it was just a matter of waiting.

He’d rather die.

He should have been dead.

But somehow, against all logic, he was still alive.

She was keeping him alive.

It was something he didn’t want to think about.

Greene lowered her cunt back to his mouth, let him rub at her clit with his tongue.

Christ she was wet.

It was absolutely disgusting.

When her breath hitched and the crying started he knew she was close.

A little more and it would be over.

That thought allowed him to manage at least some pretense of enthusiasm in what he was doing.

She leaned forward, screamed and clawed at the floor like an animal.

When it was all over her juices would be left to dry on his face, mingling with the rest of the filth from the hive.

He’d been trapped in the hive for longer than should have been possible, not succumbing to the virus because she didn’t want him to.

Earlier there’d been times he’d cursed her out, yelled at her, threatened her, and she didn’t respond at all. She understood, he was sure, but she didn’t care. Provoking her seemed impossible.

She wasn’t going to let him die.

She rubbed her cunt against his face, her smell invading his nose.

Desperation, or perhaps insanity inspired him.

He’d been pushed past his limits, there was no way he was going to get out of this alive, not after what he’d been through. He’d been exposed to the virus, and even if he wasn’t infected he knew what the outcome would be should he escape.

What he’d already done was horrifying enough that there was no pretending the thought he’d had was any worse.

Any more dangerous.

Not when the desired outcome was death.

He opened his mouth wider, pushed harder with his tongue.

She ground against him.

More screaming, more howling.

There might still be a chance he could drive her to end it all.

Twisting his head slightly to the side he bit down.

Hard.

She screamed.

He tasted blood.

She twisted and pulled back, clawing at the side of his face as she did.

He felt, maybe heard, something tear.

She smacked him and his vision flashed white as his head twisted sharply to the side.

The pain was indescribable, but somehow she hadn’t managed to break his neck. One of his teeth had cracked, a few more felt loose and he was pretty sure that she’d managed to break his jaw, but she’d failed to snap his neck.

Snarling, she crawled forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers digging through the matter restraining him and sinking into flesh.

Greene shook him, clawed him, smacked him in the face twice more. He heard a sickening crunch, felt his nose break and found himself choking on blood.

She wasn’t holding back, at least he didn’t think so.

All the while she was screaming and yowling incoherently.

Over it he thought he could hear something roaring.

A Hunter.

If she didn’t finish him, as soon as she left it would.

They hadn’t attacked him previously, but after this maybe that would change.

She pulled him up snarled in his face and threw him.

The wall of the hive was soft, cushioning the impact, but he got the wind knocked out of him when she followed through by charging and slamming into his chest.

Ribs groaned and he couldn’t breathe for coughing.

Every cough was agony.

She’d broken his ribs.

It took him several minutes to realize that the screaming had stopped, that she wasn’t attacking him anymore. Breathing still hurt and he kept coughing up blood, but maybe the pain was starting to fade.

He didn’t think it was shock.

The Hunter growled softly, walked over and nudged at him.

He gritted his teeth, waited for it to attack.

It sniffed wetly and walked away.

Of course, he still smelled too strongly of Greene.

He sat there, coughing and waiting until what had happened sank in.

His plan to get Greene to kill him had failed, but she’d wrenched him free of his living restraints.

He was free.

Without thinking he tried to stand up, screaming when the broken edges of bones ground against each other.

Something popped into place and the pain abated slightly

Fighting back another scream he took a step forward. Between being restrained for so long and Greene’s attack he was barely able to stand and had to lean against the wall of the hive.

It was pitch black and he had no idea where he was in relation to anything but he had to at least try.

He kept going, eventually finding a place where, despite the darkness, he could feel the walls of the hive closing in, forming a narrow hall.

The hall branched and he went left. Something about it, a change in the slant of the floor, a lessening of the darkness, had him sure it was the way out.

There were countless other forks and turns. The original layout of the building was long gone, walls collapsed, new ones growing to replace them. He had no way of knowing where he was going or if he was just wandering in endless circles, but he kept going.

Eventually walking became easier, pain and stiffness faded from his joints and his broken ribs stopped hurting. Adrenaline was an amazing thing, that and the hope that he could finally escape.

After that it wasn’t long before there was an actual, perceptible change in the quality of the darkness around him. He could see shadow against shadow, the outlines of tumorous lumps growing from the walls and floor, things moving past him, ignoring him.

In the distance he could see a pinpoint of light.

He broke into a run.

After so long trapped in the hive the light was blinding and the air was cold.

Squinting in the glare of the early afternoon sun he stumbled down the street, shivering slightly.

He had to get away, put as much distance between himself and the hive as possible. What he’d do next was something he could figure out as he went. All that mattered at the moment was getting away from Greene.

A Hunter roared from the rooftops.

Something nearby let out a gurgling growl.

Just a walker, but in the state he was in even that was dangerous.

His eyes were just starting to adjust enough to make out the blurry shapes of the buildings on either side of the street, abandoned cars in the road and on sidewalks and things moving.

Raising a hand to shield his eyes he turned in the direction of the sound to get a better look at the infected.

The walker was half a block away, staggering drunkenly in his direction.

Fighting it wasn’t an option, but it was moving slowly enough that if he was careful he could get away from it. He just had to watch where he was going.

He lowered his hand and in doing so caught sight of it.

A patchwork of raw, red flesh and shiny scars like old burns.

His nails curved into short, sharp claws.

His other hand was in slightly better shape, fewer oozing wounds and scars, no claws.

Up his arms there were more red, inflamed looking areas, small swellings and open lesions. In the center of one of the lesions there was a small whitish lump. He poked at and found it hard to the touch, sharp too. Pressing at one of the swellings he could feel something hard beneath. He pressed too hard and it broke with a trickle of amber fluid, another white lump sticking out through his skin.

There was an area across his chest, up to his shoulder where the flesh had rotted away. He could see muscles, watched them slide against each other as he moved his arm. The edges of the wound were a heavy, crusted scab. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the flesh might be healing around it, regrowing, but wrong. Thicker and the texture and color were subtly off.

Caught up in his morbid examination he lost track of his surroundings, forgot about the walker until he felt its thick, blunt claws rake him.

Turning he tried to push it away, his own claws slicing through its rotten flesh.

Ignoring the injury it leaned in, tried to bite him.

Teeth missed his arms by inches as he jerked back and sucker punched it with his good hand, the one without claws.

He felt bone break with the impact, not his fingers, but the thing’s skull.

It let out a gurgle and fell to the ground, twitching. Claws reached out for him one last time and he stomped down on its outstretched hand.

The thing let out one last hiss and lay still.

He looked at his hand.

When he’d punched the thing he’d managed to split his knuckles, not that he had to worry about being exposed to anything anymore.

He was infected, but lucid. Not a walker, not a Runner, not some mindless, insane thing.

The right thing to do was find the nearest base and…what? Turn himself in? Report that though he’d let Mercer get away he knew where Greene was? Let them kill him?

The General wanted Green recaptured, wanted Mercer brought in alive for study.

If he wasn’t killed he’d be taken in for research, to find what made him different from everyone else the virus infected.

Greene had been a test subject for decades, catatonic and unchanging. The near mythical PARIAH was supposed to be unageing as well.

If the virus didn’t kill him, didn’t drive him insane, there was no telling how long he’d be kept.

They wouldn’t be trying to cure him either, maybe using him to find a cure or a vaccine or to engineer some new, more useful virus, but they wouldn’t be doing anything for him. They wouldn’t treat him as a person because as far as they’d be concerned he wouldn’t be one.

He looked at his hands, the thing’s blood drying on his claws, his own blood seeping from his knuckles. The cuts were starting to close, not scab over, but close. Another spur of bone was poking through the skin of his arm.

Following the orders he’d been given didn’t matter anymore, procedure was meaningless. He wasn’t a soldier anymore.

The Hunter he’d heard earlier was somewhere close by, watching him, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t know how he knew that, didn’t know how he knew it was nervous, but he did.

Lowering his hands he started walking, this time towards a wrecked car.

Light was reflecting off one of the side view mirrors. It looked like the glass was mostly intact.

He’d go over and…

No.

He wasn’t going to look, see the infected _thing_ that would be there staring back at him.

There was no need to look and confirm what he already knew.

He wasn’t human anymore.

He was infected. The exact sort of thing he’d spent the better part of his life dedicated to killing.

Greene would probably come after him.

There was no telling if Mercer was still out there, though he had an inkling that he was.

Eventually he was going to have to turn himself in on principle, but he didn’t need to do it right away.

He could still see about letting Blackwatch know where Greene was, see if Mercer was still out there and try to capture him, do something to make whatever came afterwards worth it.

Cross took one last look at his mismatched hands and started walking.

Even if he didn’t know where he was he knew where he was going. The more he thought about it the more certain he was that Mercer was out there.

He would find him.

And this time he wasn’t going to be as careless.


End file.
